


The Soulmates Series

by starrika



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Circus, Darcy Lewis is the fandom bicycle and I love it, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Hufflepuff Pride, SHIP DARCY LEWIS WITH ALL THE THINGS, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Witch!Darcy, triple agent brock rumlow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrika/pseuds/starrika
Summary: Hopping on the bandwagon. A collection of stories for various ships in the Soulmates AU verse. Y’all know the drill at this point.Chapter 1: The ship has weather’d every rack (Darcy/Brock Rumlow)Chapter 2: I’m pretty sure this violates the Fourth Amendment (Darcy/Phil Coulson)Chapter 3: I’m not that much of an asshole. I’m deaf, I swear (Darcy/Clint Barton)Chapter 4: Are you ok? (Darcy/Steve Rogers)Chapter 5: What the fuck is a Hufflepuff? (Darcy/Bucky Barnes)Chapter 6: I didn't realize there was anyone who still followed the old ways. (Darcy/Steve Rogers)Chapter 7: Civilian! Civilian, here! SO not involved in whatever is going on. (Darcy/Bucky Barnes)Chapter 8: I’d say God bless you, but clearly He already did. (Darcy/Steve Rogers)Chapter 9: You should probably take my gun. (Darcy/Bucky Barnes)





	1. Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow

**Author's Note:**

> Currently rated for language. Explicit chapters will be denoted by an asterix.

When SHIELD went tits up, Darcy spent most of the day in her hotel room staring at CNN’s coverage of the shitshow going down in D.C. She had an internal debate, trying to decide if this was better or worse than the alien horde in NYC as she drank her coffee and trawled Twitter for updates. It would have been just another epic blowup she got to spectate from afar (just the way she liked it!) until she got the call from Clint that things were about to get far more personal – and public.

“Foster’s safe. I know Williams and Cull personally. They got a message to me that they’re going off grid. They didn’t have time to get back to you. You’re going to have to do this yourself, kid.” Barton’s voice was calm but firm. “Take the guns from your room. Leave, but look casual. Everyone knew Foster was at the observatory, so they are going to look for her there first. She’s not a high profile target for HYDRA, so you’ve got time. I’ve got my own bolt hole not far from you. SHIELD shouldn’t know about it. Take the spare license plates in Cull’s bag there and swap them out on the car before you go.”

Darcy’s hands shook as she started throwing things into her bag. “You going to be ok, Clint?”

“Don’t worry about me. Take the burner phones in Cull’s bag, too. I’ll text you the GPS coordinates for the safehouse. You might have company. Sit tight unless you absolutely have to leave. Assume anyone affiliated with SHIELD is HYDRA unless you have evidence otherwise. Code is _the ship has weather’d every rack_.”

Darcy blew out another shaky breath, ignoring the small words that wrapped around her ribs under her bra strap ( _the ship – the ship has weather in every rack – goddammit_ ). She wondered if SHIELD had that in their file. “Subtle. Sounds like Agent J still has his hard on for Cap,” she quipped, as she finished throwing everything she could take into one bag.

“Be safe, Darcy.”

“You too, Clint.”

She spent the next four and a half hours driving with a white knuckled grip, anxiously scanning the roads around her for a tail as she drove into the Allegheny mountains. The safe house was a tiny cabin bordering the edge of the National Forest. She almost missed the unmarked gravel drive – if you could even call it that, it was more ruts in the mud than anything else – and she had to drive another two miles before the cabin itself came into sight. It was a bit dusty, but there was bottled water and some MREs, and a generator for power. It must have seemed safe enough, as she felt her adrenaline rush wear off not long after her arrival, and she sat down on the lone folding chair with a whoosh of breath. Her hands were shaking again. She had left her phone behind so that she couldn’t be tracked, and she desperately wished she had it with her for some Candy Crush to calm her brain.

She had only been there an hour before she heard a car coming down the gravel drive. “Fuck a duck,” she swore, fishing her taser out of her bag. She’d taken the guns but she had never fired one before, and felt like trying to learn on the fly was probably a good recipe for getting shot. She positioned herself behind the cabin door, trying to calm herself. Clint had said she might have company. This was probably going to be fine. Probably.

The guy coming to the door had a gun out and looked like hell, but he stopped on the porch and actually fucking knocked. She startled, then realized he had to have known she was there, with her car in plain view. Darcy tended to babble when she was anxious, and today was no exception. “Hi honey, I’m home. I swear to God, if you’re HYDRA this is officially going to top my worst day list.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “And believe me, there’s been some very tough competition. Like, you think you have a bad day when some alien robot thingy does a beam me down Scotty and plays whack a mole, but _noope_ \---”

The door crashed open and Darcy shrieked, shooting her taser.

The man swore. “The ship – the ship has weather in every rack – _goddammit_ ,” he ground out, pulling the taser lines off his shoulder while keeping his gun trained on her. He eyed her once over and lowered the gun. “Are you even legal?”

“Are you HYDRA? Because I feel like that is a very important question I need answered,” Darcy replied.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“Oh, _that’s_ reassuring.”

He was still eyeing her. “Lewis. That’s who you are. Civilian. Puente Antiguo. Barton sent you here, didn’t he?”

“HYDRA or no, government goon?”

He holstered his gun and sat down heavily into the folding chair. There was dried blood and dirt all over him, and Darcy couldn’t tell if the blood was his own or someone else’s. He looked like he was still sizing her up. The silence stretched between them for a moment before he ran a palm over his face and sighed deeply.

“Been undercover.”

“Undercover as HYDRA or undercover as SHIELD?” Darcy countered, still clutching her taser to her chest, as useless as it had been the first time. He was between her and her bag with the guns – and probably knew it, too. Stupid jackbooted spysassins.

He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “What do you think?” he said sourly, taking deeper breaths. Darcy was starting to think some of the blood on him might be his.

“Are you – are you hurt?”

He narrowed his eyes, giving her another once over, assessing her as a threat. “Got any water?”

Darcy narrowed her eyes right back. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not answering my questions,” she replied. She still went over to the cabinet on the far wall and grabbed him a bottle. She hesitated bringing it back to him, although logically he had a gun and could shoot her just as easily across the room.

He sighed again, holding out his hand. The silence stretched between them as Darcy stood out of reach. “Widow sent me here. Been deep undercover as HYDRA for a long time. Need to get through that data dump to see what’s in there. May have to go back under.”

Darcy relented, placing the bottle of water in his outstretched palm, before stepping back towards the door. “Got a name, Agent?”

He raised an eyebrow at her before polishing off half the bottle in one gulp. “Classified.”

“By the super secret government agency that doesn’t exist anymore?”

“You’ve got a smart mouth, sweetheart.”

“You said my words, you know.”

“I know.”

There was another moment of silence. Darcy fetched him another bottle of water after he polished off the first one. “Are you hurt?” she asked again.

“I’ve had better days,” he said wryly. He groaned, pushing himself up from the chair. “This place have a med kit?”

Darcy shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He moved stiffly over to the cabinets, searching through the MRE packs before he pulled out a black bag that had been tucked all the way to the back. He shucked his tac jacket and shirt with another groan as he sat back down with the med kit. Darcy sucked in a sharp breath at the mottled bruises and open wounds with sluggish bleeding. Black apparently hid all sorts of sins.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered as he started to clean and bandage a jagged wound.

“And you’re going to go back for more?” Darcy replied, incredulous. He didn’t answer. When he finished with his front, she set her taser down and inched closer to him. “Do you need help with your back?”

“It would make this go faster.”

Darcy huffed, picking up the alcohol wipes to start cleaning a nasty looking scrape on his left should. He didn’t even hiss, although she knew it had to hurt like a bitch. “My name is Darcy,” she said softly as she moved on to the next wound.

“I’m not telling you my name, sweetheart.”

“Because it’s classified?” she said waspishly.

“Because I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Pretty sure we’re long past that point, buster. That data dump did me no favors.”

She finished his back, taping some gauze to the worst of it. He stiffly shoved his pants off, grabbing the butterfly bandages and applying them to a nasty gash. It bisected the words on his thigh, messy and bloody between _Hi honey, I’m home_ and _HYDRA this is officially going to top my worst day list_. She took a moment to ogle him in his boxer briefs before taking a look in the med kit. “That looks like it needs stitches.”

“I’m shit at giving myself stitches. This will do.”

“I can do it.”

He gave her an assessing look. Neither of them mentioned the words on his thigh. Her voice wavered but her hands had steadied themselves. “Have at it, then.”

She kneeled in front of him, threading the needle and concentrating as she slipped it into his skin. He didn’t even flinch, although she did. “Look Ma, all that crossstitch came in handy.”

He had a ghost of a grin around his mouth, although his eyes looked more crinkled in pain that amusement. “A woman of many talents.”

“Bonus points for not calling me a girl, Secret Agent Man.”

“You _are_ young. Didn’t you just finish college last year?” he muttered.

“Eh, switch your major a few times, end up on the seven year plan plus a fall birthday…” she shrugged, trailing off as she closed the nastiest part of the wound, biting her lip in concentration. “I’m twenty-seven.”

“That’s better,” he muttered.

“Yes, because my _age_ is clearly the hurdle here, Double-O.” She tied off the thread and snapped the rest with her teeth, ignoring how close her head was to his crotch and resisting the urge to make a joke of it. It was a valiant effort.

“Barton say how long you’d be here?”

Darcy shook her head and stood, going to get herself a bottle of water. She fiddled with the cap. “Gotta unplug. Get some R&R. Pull a Thoreau, be one with the woods, you know.”

His eyes narrowed. “By yourself.”

“He said I might have company.”

“Did he say who?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you have a SHIELD detail?”

“They left me behind,” she muttered, focusing intently on the cap in her hand.

He paused before stiffly standing up to pull his tac shirt and pants back on. “Do you even have a gun?”

Darcy shrugged, taking a swig of water to ignore the rising panic in her gut. He wasn’t going to leave her here alone, was he? “I brought some.”

He sighed, palming his face again. “Do you know how to shoot them?”

Darcy shook her head – and promptly burst into tears.

“Hey, hey,” he muttered, stepping forward to put his arms around her, rubbing her back in small circles as she sobbed. His chin came to rest on the top of her head and Darcy fisted her free hand into his shirt. “I got you.”

It took her a few minutes before she was composed enough to speak. “I’m scared,” she said into his chest. It was a very nice chest. Eight out of ten on the Thor scale of holy pecs and abs.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Most people don’t,” he said, a tinge of amusement in his voice. He smelled like a heady mix dirt and sweat and blood and leather. She would have climbed him like a tree if it had been any other time.

“Are you going to leave me here alone?” Darcy asked after a minute.

“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“You biologically incapable of answering questions, Agent Tall Dark and Handsome?”

He kissed her forehead. His voice was low and quiet. “Call me Brock.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This plotbunny of doom has been expanded into its own work which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108262)


	2. Darcy Lewis/Phil Coulson

Darcy had always assumed she would meet her soulmate when she was older. _This is SHIELD standard procedure, Ms. Lewis_ , wasn’t something you’d say to a teenager. She’d googled it – _Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division_. It was something straight out of post-9/11 government alphabet soup. In a way, it had been a relief during the horrors of puberty, when she was self-conscious about her glasses, braces, frizzy hair, and boobs that wouldn’t. quit. growing. She wasn’t on edge like so many of her friends, anticipating what may come each day with all the teenage angst to go with it.

Darcy had shrugged, made a bet with her brother that she was going to meet her soulmate getting arrested at a protest, and went on with her life.

That come what-may-attitude had always served her well. She’d tried everything from debate team to cello, English major to Poli Sci, with dozens of stops in between. When she saw an internship out in New Mexico for astrophysics that would count for six science credits, she shrugged once more and applied for it too.

Jane Foster was nuttier than a fruitcake, of course – but Darcy had quickly grown fond of her boss, and actually seemed to be picking up on some science every once in a blue moon, too. Mostly that came from Erik Selvig, who took to pointing out constellations to her when they were out collecting data for Jane. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a semester, even if Puente Antiguo was out in the ass-end of nowhere.

She didn’t have time to get bored either, what with the crazy hot hobo guy that shook things up halfway through her term - which was all fun and games until the jackbooted thugs showed up. Not only did they take Jane’s data and equipment, they took _Darcy’s_ stuff too. She was so hyped when they started grabbing her stuff, she hadn’t even caught the agency’s name.

Which led her to the most _MIB_ looking motherfucker of the group, who she’d been punted to by every other grunt when she tried to lodge a complaint about her iPod. He had the shades and suit down pat, with an impassive look on his face as she stared him down, hands on her hips.

“I’m pretty sure this violates the Fourth Amendment.”

His eyebrow twitched. “This is SHIELD standard procedure, Ms. Lewis.”

Darcy opened her mouth, looked around her for a moment in bewilderment, and then back at the dude in front of her. He looked a lot older than her. “What. the. _fuck_.”

His face was still impassive. The sunglasses probably helped. “You may certainly file a written complaint. I can provide you the forms, if you come with me.”

Darcy glanced around at the agents buzzing around collecting everything, with Jane and Erik hovering over the equipment being moved. No one was paying either of them any attention. “Sure. Fine,” she said flatly. “Lead on, Agent -?”

“Coulson.”

Darcy mouthed the name to herself behind his back as she followed him out to one of the black SUVs idling next to the trailer. It was blessedly air-conditioned, and she thanked baby Jesus she had switched to clinical strength deodorant for New Mexico, as she was sweating like a pig at this point. She took a seat in the passenger side and crossed her arms, but she couldn’t wait for him to speak.

“I said your words, didn’t I?”

The silence stretched between them, until she huffed and rolled up the sleeve of her left arm. There along in the inside in neat caps was the _This is SHIELD standard procedure, Ms. Lewis_ she’d had all her life.

“Please tell me you’re not forty,” she blurted out, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  
He gave a startled laugh and took his sunglasses off, which made him look a little younger. “Thirty-seven, Ms. Lewis.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s not going to work. The name thing, I mean. Not your age, I mean – shutting up now. Darcy, call me Darcy, please. I am an awkward sea turtle.”

There was a slight crinkle to his eyes that made her think he was amused by her rather than offended, although she still wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

“Phil Coulson.”

Darcy bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from more verbal diarrhea.

“I do have a form if you would like to file a written complaint.”

“Is it going to get me my iPod and laptop back?”

“Unlikely.”

Darcy sighed. “What the hell, dude. I just organized my playlists.”

His lips twitched. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said after another moment.

“So how’s this going to go, Agent J? Mind wipe? Pretend we never met?”

“How about dinner?”

Darcy blinked. “Oh-kay, not what I was expecting, but ok.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, I would never wish to –“

“No, dude, you’re fine. Like actualfax fine, if you know what I mean. I like a guy in a suit. Oh god, I really should shut up. I just meant, with the whole SHIELD thing, not like, the age thing.”

“I am aware of the power imbalance,” he paused. “You’re not obligated, Darcy. I’m not holding your iPod or laptop hostage. I would never presume-”

She patted the back of his hand. “You’re already better than the douche bros my age. Where and when? If you hadn’t noticed, we’re in bumfuck nowhere with the bar and takeout pizza as our choices.”

“Pizza,” he said after another moment. “I’m not – I would like to get to know you,” he said stiffly.

He eyed her hand, which was still resting on the back of his, and she withdrew it quickly, feeling a blush creep up her neck. Note to self, clearly not a tactile person like her. “What, no file on me?” she joked.

“There is. But that’s not the same as knowing someone.”

“Ok, slightly creepy, although that probably comes with the government goon territory.”

His looked slightly flustered. Only later would Darcy realize just how thrown he had been by their whole conversation. “I appreciate that this is unexpected –“

“Dude, I literally had SHIELD written across my forearm. Do you think I don’t know how to google? This is the least unexpected part of this whole rodeo.”

His mouth twitched again, as if he was suppressing a laugh. “Darcy.”

“Phil. Seriously, you’re like sixteen, maybe seventeen years older than me. You’re not even twice my age. I get that it’s making you feel like a perv, but on a scale of one to imprinting in Twilight, you’re doing just fine. We’re getting pizza. I promise to protect your maidenly virtue.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“It’s a date. Or not,” Darcy replied, giving the back of his hand another pat.


	3. Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton

The best part of sign language was being able to call someone an asshole without them knowing - not that Darcy really had a problem with calling someone an asshole to their face. But some situations called for subtlety, like when shady government agencies decided to hijack all their stuff and those government thugs were carrying ginormous guns. There was something very satisfying about signing to Jane across the room that one agent was a _cocksucking thundercunt_ and another a _major douchecanoe_ , and the third they dubbed _Agent Asshat_ , when there was very little that either of them could do to stop it.  
  
She discovered Jane knew sign language about two weeks into her internship, and that had been the time things shifted from boss and intern to something more like friends. Darcy had shown Jane her words – _I’m not that much of an asshole. I’m deaf, I swear_ – and Jane had told her about her childhood best friend who spoke ASL. And then they had resorted mainly to immaturely calling each other names signing across the lab when Erik was trying to concentrate.  
  
Things got even better when Thor arrived, and not just because he was cut and smoking hot. The first time Darcy had signed to Jane that she should tap that, he had guffawed and joined right in with their signing parties. The Allspeak was handy like that. Jane forgave her the mortification. Eventually.  
  
When SHIELD decided to give Jane back her data and equipment after the crazy Destroyer fiasco (in exchange for Erik, which was totally not fair), Darcy was more than a little pissed to see that her iPod had somehow been separated from the rest. Jane was too busy reaming _Agent Asshat_ about the condition of her equipment, so Darcy went to the next most official looking goon.  
  
“Dude, how the hell did you guys lose my iPod in less than a week?”  
  
But he didn’t spare her more than half a glance and kept on going back out to the truck for another box to unload. _Rude_. Darcy decided _major douchecanoe_ was neck and neck with Agent Asshat for most obnoxious. At least the other thugs were polite enough to actually _say_ no, rather than act like she was the help and therefore invisible.  
  
She moved on; bought another iPod, swore never to forget to back up to the cloud again; went to London, tangled with Dark Elves; got turfed in Tromso, and invented a _shady motherfuckers_ sign solely for SHIELD. It was used frequently in conversations with Jane.  
  
And then Jane landed a pretty sweet gig with Stark Industries, which involved lab space and apartments at Stark Tower in NYC. Which, if this wasn’t a sign that being a Hufflepuff was the way to go in life – loyally following Jane on her quest to build a rainbow bridge actually paid off. With _dividends_. Because living in Stark Tower meant occasionally running into the other residents of Stark Tower, like Captain _Abs for America_. She had seen most of the Avengers after a month in the new lab. The walls were glass, and she could discretely watch them go to and from Tony’s lab, often carrying some sort of crazy looking tech. But the first time she saw the guy walk by with the bow and arrows, she had to do a double take.  
  
“Jane. Jane. Janey – did you just see Robin Hood walk by?” Darcy resorted to throwing a highlighter at her to get her attention.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Robin Hood? Dude with a bow and arrows? Tony’s going retro. Bet a trebuchet is next.”  
  
Jane shook her head, turning back to the white board in front of her. “Thor said he had a teammate who used a bow and arrow. I think his name was Hawk Guy?” she said absently.  
  
“Hawk Guy. Who the fuck came up with that?”  
  
“Beats me.”  
  
She saw him again a few weeks later, carrying the bow and arrows again. This time, she got a better look at his face as he stopped to read the notices tacked up on the screen in the hall, and she suppressed a groan.  
  
“Jane, there he is,” she hissed. “Robin Hood.” _Better watch out or major douchecanoe will come steal your stuff again. Shady motherfuckers_ , she signed, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He was making an attempt to read the notice board, but she could see his eyes wandering over to the two of them more than once.  
  
_Oo de lally_ , Jane signed back, and Darcy guffawed.  
  
_We’re probably in the clear since Agent Asshat isn’t here. We all know Robin Hood was too good to talk to the help anyway_ , Darcy signed back. She turned to see that he was still standing there, now unabashedly watching the two of them.  
  
_I’m not that much of an asshole. I’m deaf, I swear_ , he signed on the other side of the glass, looking straight at her. Darcy felt her face flame and sunk down to hide under her desk as she heard Jane cackle.  
  
“Tell me when he leaves,” she hissed at Jane. “I’m telling Thor that Heimdall’s got to beam me to Asgard.”  
The silence stretched as Darcy waited, deep in mortification, until she came to a sudden realization. “You better not be signing anything to him, Janey. I know where you sleep!”  
  
“Karma,” Jane sing-songed. Darcy wondered if Thor would mind if she murdered Jane.  
  
“Is he gone?”  
  
Jane laughed. “Yes, he’s gone.”  
  
Darcy emerged hesitantly from under the desk. “What did you tell him?”  
  
“To take a good long look at your ankle.” Jane was enjoying this, if the grin on her face was anything to go by. She was an absolute troll.  
  
Darcy bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from shrieking in frustration and stomped toward the door. “I’m going to lunch.”  
  
The shine of living in Stark Tower quickly wore off after that. Living and working the same building as the super spy she was trying to avoid was fucking hard, even with Jarvis’ help. Darcy found herself ducking into closets, bathrooms, and some weird hydroponic grow farm on the fourteenth floor she was pretty sure was growing some of Amsterdam’s finest to try and duck him. She succeeded for only thirty-six hours – probably because he was humoring her. When she stepped into a supply closet around the corner from the labs and locked the door, he dropped down out of the ceiling vent and nearly gave her a heart attack.  
  
“Jesus Christ, ceiling cat. Warn a girl.”  
  
He grinned. “Sorry.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you were deaf.”  
  
He grinned wider and tapped his ear. She could see a glimpse of purple hearing aids. _I am_ , he signed.  
  
Darcy spluttered. “But – so – you knew what Jane and I were saying back in Puente Antiguo?”  
  
_It’s in the shady motherfucker handbook_ , he signed back. Darcy socked him on the arm. It hurt like a bitch – his bicep felt like it was made of rocks. She steadfastly ignored the desire to touch his arm again. He was kind of stupidly good looking.  
  
“Then why the fuck did you ignore me when I asked about my iPod?” she demanded.  
  
He looked a bit rueful at that. “My aids blew out when the Destroyer hit the town. I’m decent at reading lips, but that doesn’t help if you’re not looking at someone.”  
  
“So did I – you, um – did I say your words?” she muttered, feeling her face heat up.  
  
He laughed, shucking off his arm guard. She could see _Dude, how the hell did you guys lose my iPod in less than a week?_ in her messy, cramped scrawl all the way to his wrist. “Even if I didn’t know it. What about you?”  
  
Darcy rolled up her jeans and showed him the blocky letters around her ankle. _Got a name, Robin Hood?_ she signed.  
  
_C-L-I-N-T_ , he spelled back.

 


	4. Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

There had been reams written about Captain America as a blank. Journals, abstracts, psychoanalysis, even a few terrible made for tv movies all exploited that fact. It was common knowledge, like George Washington and the cherry tree – and just as false. He may have been a blank going in to the ice, but when he came out, Steve Rogers joined the other ninety percent of the world with a soulmate. Tucked high under his left arm were three precise, tiny words: _Are you ok?_  
  
Given the one-two punch of waking up in the twenty-first century and an alien invasion of New York City, Steve hardly noticed what clothes he was wearing, much less his new mark. It wasn’t until he reached up to fiddle with a flickering lightbulb above his bathroom sink, three weeks after the invasion, that he spotted the script just under his armpit. He fumbled, nearly dropping the lightbulb and leaned closer to the mirror to study the feminine script. He swore.  
  
Life went on at a breakneck pace. Sometimes, when he had a moment, Steve wondered what his soulmate might be like. When he was young, he had hoped for a long time for his words to appear. When he was in his teens, he had resigned himself that no one was meant to be saddled with such a sickly burden. By the time he’d enlisted, the idea that he wasn’t fated to come back from the war joined those dark thoughts. And maybe that was part of the reason he threw himself into so many scraps and out of so many planes. There wasn’t a dame out there who would be gutted to see her words fade if he didn’t make it.  
  
But now there was, and Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about it – didn’t give himself permission to stop and decide how he felt about it. Because Bucky was out there somewhere, and SHIELD was compromised by HYDRA, and there was just too much to do to stop and wonder who and where she might be. And if he paused every time he got out of the shower to study his words in the bathroom mirror, checking to see if the script was still dark, he didn’t put too much thought into it either. Sam would tell him that he was avoiding the issue, but Steve _had_ to find Bucky. He didn’t have time for anything else.  
  
They jumped from safe house to safe house, sometimes with Natasha or Barton, hitting HYDRA bases and looking for small signs that Bucky was still out there, somewhere. He made intermittent calls to Maria Hill, now handling security for Stark Industries, connecting her with agents they’d found alive and gone to ground. He discovered Agent Coulson was alive and turned the air blue, hating spies and faked deaths.  
  
Through it all, Sam stuck by him, and Steve would have wondered if it wasn’t _Sam_ who was his soulmate had he not seen the faded words on Sam’s forearm – _The name’s Riley_ – and heard the way he spoke about Riley sometimes. Staring up at the ceiling in dark motel rooms chasing sleep, Steve sometimes wondered if she’d forgive him for not looking for her. A year into trying burn HYDRA to the ground, and he was no closer to finding Bucky than he’d been at the start.  
  
They were headed to New Mexico to meet up with some associates of Barton who had info that had to be passed in person. Jane and Darcy, Barton had said, before giving them the GPS coordinates. Natasha had done the drop a few weeks before, but hadn’t stuck around to meet them. Barton didn’t say she had a lead, and at this point, Steve assumed even if she did, it was probably another dead end. As Stark would say, he was feeling his age.  
  
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the cluster of RVs with string lights hung between them looked more like a campground than some sort of safe house. While the location was remote, the RVs looked like they had seen better days, and there was no defensive position or cover to be found. Steve mentally recategorized Jane and Darcy in his mind from SHIELD agent to civilian, as he took in the fire pit and brightly colored lawn chairs. There was a baby pool to one side, with rubber ducks floating in it, and a cluster of cacti in mosaic pots. He blinked and realized that for the first time in a while, he was at someone’s _home_.  
  
“Greetings, my friend!”  
  
Steve blinked once more, as he took in the broad-shouldered man striding towards them as they exited the car. Thor gave him a hearty clap on his shoulder and shook hands with Sam with a broad grin.  
  
“Thor?”  
  
“Tis good to see you, my shield brother. And to meet you, Son of Wil.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” Steve asked.  
  
“My love was most vexed with her _seidr_. The Lady Darcy posted about it on the Book of Faces, and so I knew I must visit.”  
  
“They have Facebook on Asgard?” Steve heard Sam mutter behind him.  
  
“Alas, Lady Jane and Lady Darcy are asleep after their toil last night. You must wait to meet my love and her shieldmaiden. But I have been provided plenty of sustenance so that we may feast on sandwiches and Poptarts until they awake.”  
  
They followed Thor to a small building east of the camp, which was full of scribbled papers, tacked up charts and graphs on the walls, and machines that Steve couldn’t guess their purpose. It looked haphazard and nothing like SHIELD, and he was surprised to find himself relaxed. He had a few sandwiches as Thor told them of Natasha’s visit before handing them a paper file that had Steve tense all over again.  
  
She had found Bucky.  
  
Or rather, Bucky had found _her_.  
  
And he wanted nothing to do with Steve.  
  
Natasha wrote that Bucky had approached her to help him steal his files from HYDRA and wipe all evidence of trigger words from existence. He was suffering from PTSD and any time he was startled, he risked lapsing back into The Winter Soldier. But he remembered Natalia from the Red Room, and he trusted her enough to keep him safe from hurting those he shouldn’t. It was like a knife to the gut for Steve. Bucky – who wanted to be called _James_ , wrote Natasha – was adamant that he wanted nothing to do with Steve or Hill’s fledgling attempt to fix SHIELD. His only mission was to destroy HYDRA’s ability to control him, and Natalia the only concession to his dangerous mental state.  
  
Steve sighed and pushed back from the table. Both Thor and Sam had pity in their eyes, and Steve clenched his jaw. “I’ll be back,” he muttered.  
  
He walked for hours, turning Natasha’s report over in his head. He understood that Bucky’s memories were scattershot, but that didn’t make his rejection hurt any less. It was his fault, after all, that Bucky had been captured by HYDRA. _His_ fault the man barely knew his own name. He didn’t blame Bucky for never wanting to see him again.  
  
It was dusk when Steve returned to the campground, throwing himself into one of the lawn chairs with another heavy sigh. He felt like a rudderless boat. There was a shuffling behind him. A girl took the chair next to him. She had big blue eyes behind dark framed glasses. Probably Jane or Darcy. He had expected Sam.  
  
“Are you ok?” she said softly.  
  
He startled, taking another look at the brunette beside him. “Not really. Steve Rogers,” he said, holding his hand out to shake hers.  
  
She bit her lip as he dwarfed her small, soft hand. He caught a glimpse of his handwriting on the inside of her wrist. There was a blush creeping up her cheeks and she looked shyer than before.  
“I know.”

 


	5. Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes

Darcy’s soulmark was a self-fulfilling prophecy. There were days where she wondered whether her soulmark had prompted her interest, or if she was always fated to be such a nerd. Whichever came first, it was inevitable that whenever Jo published a new book, Darcy was going to be all over it. She had introduced Thor to the series, and he had declared them a _most engrossing edda_ \- score one for Midgardian culture. He had beamed and enthusiastically joined her in shouting _Ten points to Ravenclaw!_ whenever Jane or Erik had a breakthrough.

 

Harry Potter was kind of her _thing_.

 

When they had moved into ~~Stark~~ Gryffindor Tower - Stark had a love of red and gold and showboatishness that could be no other - Darcy had worked hard to make their space home. Jane had reservations about working with Stark, but after the reveal that SHIELD had been riddled with HYDRA, she’d capitulated to Thor’s request to work in a safer space. Darcy had no desire to be left high and dry like they had been in London, and so she did her best to help Jane settle in to the labs and tried to play nice whenever she encountered any of the other Avengers. Barton turned out to be just as big a nerd as she, hanging around their lab to shoot the shit whenever he was in town, always up for a debate like _Balrog vs. Hungarian Horntail_ or which House the Lannisters would sort into. Inevitably, Barton led to Romanoff, who regarded the two of them with amusement and exasperation. She never said much, but she was far more friendly than Darcy would have pictured SHIELD’s best assassin. Still, Darcy knew better than to underestimate a Slytherin.

 

Dr. Banner was more reticent, although he would sometimes slip in to consult with Jane on a problem. He had startled, the first time Darcy and Thor had awarded House points, but had given Darcy a genuine smile when he left. Stark, on the other hand, was a _giant pain in the ass_ . He was constantly trying to upgrade their equipment without asking, usually with explosive results. He also thought _Game of Thrones_ was better than Harry Potter, that _philistine_. Darcy was pretty sure that ninety percent of his interest came from the Starks sharing his name, and took great pleasure in spoiling the Red Wedding for him before it aired when he blew up Jane’s mass spectrometer.

 

When Sam and Steve would stop by during the Great Winter Soldier Hunt of 2014, Darcy took great pleasure in shoving _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_ into Steve’s hand during their first visit after he had looked lost at her allusions. When they returned, she happily gave him the second and third books as Sam rolled his eyes.

 

“Don’t be giving him any ideas. He’s reckless enough as it is.”

 

Darcy laughed, and gave him the fourth book too. “Don’t lose this, it’s the best one.”

 

“Yeah, because your boy -”

 

Darcy held up her hand and made it a zip it motion in Sam’s direction. “No spoilers!”

 

Sam subsided with a roll of his eyes as Steve blushed and thanked Darcy for the books. She patted his cheek like he was a child. “Of course, you sweet cinnamon roll. Badgers have to stick together.”

 

At that, Sam coughed and shook his head. “Uh uh, no way. Have you _seen_ how many things he has jumped _off_ or _out of_ without a parachute? That boy is a Gryffindor.”

 

Darcy crossed her arms, frowning at Sam. “Is Hermione Granger a Ravenclaw even though she’s the smartest witch of their age? I rest my case.”

 

“There is _no way_ Steve is a Hufflepuff. _None_ . Hufflepuff literally takes the leftovers. The Sorting Hat _said so_.”

 

“You bite your tongue!” Darcy protested. “ _Rude_ . But I suppose I can’t blame you for being an idiotic _Gryffindor_.”

 

“Preach, gurl,” Jane shouted from behind her new mass spectrometer.

 

“Peace, my friends. Peace. The Lady Darcy is correct though, Son of Wil. For although Steven is brave, he is also loyal and hard working. That loyalty makes him a most honorable Hufflepuff. It is not just bravery that paints you and I in red and gold, but bravery to the point of recklessness that makes a Gryffindor.”

 

Sam blinked, clearly not expecting Thor to contribute to the sorting discussion.

 

“Stop corrupting my team, Lewis,” Stark interrupted, bringing a new set of wings into the lab for Sam to try on.

 

Steve made it through all seven books, plus _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ before they got Bucky back to the tower, comatose and looking more like a hobo than the debonair man in pictures from the war. Steve had looked so forlorn while waiting for medical to clear Bucky that Darcy had pulled up _A Very Potter Musical_ on her phone and shoved it into his hands, humming along to _Going Back to Hogwarts_ as she got back to work. Steve looked lighter after that, even laughing out loud at a few pieces. Darcy felt satisfied with her distraction. _Mischief Managed_.

 

Before she had to scramble for new diversions for Steve, Bucky awoke - which, thank God, because Darcy _had_ to get Jane’s precept finished for her next presentation. The Avengers seemed preoccupied with helping the Winter Soldier recalibrate back to some semblance of Bucky Barnes, leaving the lab blissfully free of interruptions. Darcy knew it couldn’t last - and so she wasn’t too surprised to find Steve and Bucky, sans hobo hair and a metal arm, at the door of the lab not long after that.

 

“Have you seen Tony? He’s taken off with Bucky’s arm and I’m pretty sure if we don’t take it back, it will end up covered in red and gold paint.”

 

“I can help. Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders,” she said, grinning at the both of them and shooting finger guns towards Steve. Bucky frowned, looking consternated. Steve, by contrast, had a particularly trollish looking grin.

 

“What the _fuck_ is a _Hufflepuff_?”


	6. Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern witch!Darcy makes an appearance - with a Catholic twist. Still couldn't budge Steve from his angst train. I'll manage a fluffy one with these two at some point, I swear.

At the end of the day, Darcy was an O'Connor. She might have her father's last name, but that was the only thing she shared with him. Unlike her brothers, who clearly took after the Lewis side, Darcy had the _ó Conchobhair_ look - and everything else that came with it. By the time she was six, she could call the quarters just as easily as she could say her rosary. When her mother had caught her feeding the crows, Darcy began spending her summers with her grandmother and her aunt, learning the rituals and family history her mother always avoided talking about.

 

Her grandmother never called herself a witch. Once, Darcy had made the mistake of saying so, and had been firmly scolded. The O’Connors were _Catholic_ \- as Catholic as the Pope, to hear _Mamó_ tell it - and she had been highly offended that Darcy had lumped the old ways in with nonsense like Harry Potter or the women at the esoteric bookshop in town who worshipped Pan and Isis and Buddha in one overly tie-dyed mix. They weren’t _heathens_ , after all. But the O’Connors knew to always greet a magpie, to bless themselves at every church and graveyard, to have a bit of iron in their pocket, and to pray to St. Cuimín for intervention whenever anyone was sick. Darcy knew to say a _Hail Mary_ with every stitch she knit, to stir soup clockwise when praying to bless the meal, and when to prune her plants by the phase of the moon. And if _Mamó_ kept all her knowledge, jumbled up with saint cards and pressed herbs and flowers, in the family receipt book - well, Darcy knew better than to call it a grimoire.

 

Even if it _was_.

 

By the time Darcy went to college, she had an impressive collection of rosaries and icons, tiny decorative bottles full of holy water, enough yarn to knit sweaters for the entire football team, packets of dried herbs from the garden, smooth wooden spoons that had been turned by _Móraí_ for _Mamó_ years ago, and dozens of loose sheets of paper with _Mamó_ ’s slanting script, detailing prayers to different saints for every occasion, from blessing a new home to exorcising an old ghost.

 

She also said _fuck it_ and started calling herself a witch. She figured if she was crafting prayers to certain saints by patronage to fall during certain times of the moon cycle, she may as well _own it_. And then she went out and adopted a black cat she dubbed Lonán, just to go all in with with the stereotype. He was a scraggly, ill-tempered stray, and she loved him like every other stray she had ever adopted, animal or human. It was kind of her thing.

 

She learned to keep her practice close to the vest, though. The kids at the Newman Center were quick to tell her she was going to hell when they noticed her tarot cards. The kids at the Eclectic Alliance were just as quick to judge her for believing in Jesus. She missed having her aunts and cousins to complete her circle, but she took heart in her words, wrapping neatly around her wrist, knowing she would never truly be alone in her practice.

 

When Jane brought her on as an intern and then as her official assistant, it was easier for Darcy to simply say nothing. She muttered prayers to St. Albert when she brewed Jane’s coffee, and to St. Dymphna when she knit Erik socks. She called on St. Joan of Arc when the Dark Elves came to town, and St. Jude when SHIELD _would not pick up the damn phone_ . After they moved into Stark Tower, Darcy found herself calling on St. Monica, praying for patience - and quickly learned with Tony Stark this was something that needed to happen _daily_. But with all the frustrations of the tower, it was easier than she expected to settle in, with her herb pots in the kitchen window and her favorite afghan over the couch. She registered at Holy Cross parish in Hell’s Kitchen, feeling a bit of a thrill the first time she ran her hands over the back of the pew, knowing her great-grandfather had once been there, further back in time, listening to Father Duffy during his early Printers’ Mass. When SHIELD fell, it didn’t take long to find herself there, knelt in prayer - grappling over prayers for the fallen that may have been HYDRA or merely a government goon.

 

And then she went home to cook, because the one thing O’Connor women knew how to do was feed people during an emergency.

 

Soup was first, rich with tomatoes and cream and basil, stirred with _Móraí_ ’s best wooden spoon. Bread followed, with prayers to St. Cuimín to heal the hurt in one’s soul. St. Brigid was next, for her hearth, before the bread went into the oven, and then St. Anne as a protector from storms. Darcy had a feeling in her bones there would be conflict before the day was out, with or without Tony as the usual instigator of conflict. As the bread baked, she took the time to sweep the room and chalk the doors - while she had done their apartments and the lab when they had moved in, she had never taken the time to cleanse the common space. Then coddle and _Mamó_ ’s special colcannon came next, since there was nothing some warm potatoes couldn’t fix.

 

By the time the Avengers trickled in, she had knocked up a bit of a feast, coaxing Jane and Tony and Bruce from the labs with a promise of hot bread and fresh butter. And if that bread had been blessed three times over - well, Darcy wasn’t going to tell. The Black Widow slipped into conversation with the group far easier than Darcy had been expecting, and the Falcon - _please, call me Sam_ \- exchanged pleasantries as if he were an old friend. Her prayer for peace at the table as they discussed strategies in the wake of SHIELD’s fall seemed to hold.

 

Still, Captain America was slumped at the end of the table, looking as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. It made her fingers twitch with the urge to smooth down his hair, as if he were one of her strays. Darcy set a cup of coffee by his elbow, surreptitiously making the sign of the cross with her thumb on the mug, and headed back into the kitchen to make him a plate. If there was one thing she knew as an O’Connor - circumstances always looked better after a bit of food.

 

She broke out the big guns - the last of _Mamó_ ’s herbs - garnishing the plate as she blessed the food and began whispering a prayer for clarity and peace.

 

“I didn’t realize there was anyone who still followed the old ways.”

 

Darcy started, making a hasty sign of the cross over the plate and turning to see Captain America at the entrance to the kitchen. She blinked, registering after a moment that he had said her words. _Captain America had said her words_. She touched her wrist before falling to brush her hand the rim of the plate, like a soft caress

 

“It looked like you needed a prayer,” Darcy replied. She offered him the plate with two hands; the gesture its own kind of blessing.


	7. Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes

Darcy gets taken a month after Tromso. She had gone to the grocery, once Jane had settled back at Oxford, only to be thrown in the back of a black van coming out of Tesco. She had thought it was SHIELD at first, finally coming to disappear her for knowing too much. It wasn’t until they started grilling her about Jane’s work that she realized things had taken a decidedly Liam Neeson turn. _Ha_. _Taken_ a turn. It was good to know that even in an emergency she could still pun.

 

After the snatch and grab, things actually weren’t that unpleasant. Sure, she was in some sort of underground bunker… _base_ thingamajig that looked straight out of a Bond movie. And the scientists in lab coats looked _very_ ready to break into some mad cackling. But they cut the zip ties from her wrists and gave her some water, and they sat her in a chair rather than throwing her into that pit from _Silence of the Lambs_ , so. It could have been worse.

  
  
Much worse.

  
  
Being in a chair in the lab meant that Darcy could actually _see_ what was in the lab. And boy were they hitting _alllll_ the squares on the supervillain bingo card, because experimenting on babies and animals was definitely bad guy cliche number one.

  
  
But she kept chatting with the man guarding her – she had dubbed him  _Goon #3_ – consciously trying to keep her tone light and her body relaxed. If she had any chance of getting out of this, it was going to be with her wits. She really should have taken up karate after New Mexico. Or at least some cardio. Darcy chatted about their last trip to Tromso, lying through her teeth about the beautiful scenery, and how many readings Jane had collected. She asked a scientist nearby where he’d gotten his Ph.D., trying to look interested as he rambled about biomechanics, making sure to lean forward to highlight the girls. By the time the klaxons went off, she had nearly all the lab convinced she was _totally_ down to villain with AIM.

  
The scientists scrambled. Goon #3 looked about in alarm before checking his phone and pulling his gun. “Stay here,” he ordered her, and yeah, _fuck that_. She wasn’t going to stick around for whatever sent the science crew bolting for the panic room.

  
  
As soon as the lab had emptied, Darcy hustled over to the cages feeling like this was the Destroyer all over again.

  
  
“Hey Toto, you got to stay with me here. We’re not in Kansas anymore – got to jailbreak Dorothy and hit the yellow brick road, okay?” Darcy rambled, trying to catch hold of the dog’s harness with one hand as she jimmied the lock on the baby’s cage with the other. The dog was some overgrown mutt who looked like a mix between a German shepherd and a golden retriever, although he was docile enough, leaning against her leg and not pulling on his collar. The baby, on the other hand, was a _tiny ball of rage_. Darcy shushed her, trying to swaddle her flailing limbs with a blanket, and pulled her close to her chest. “Dorothy, you’re going to bring those flying monkeys down on us if you don’t stop screaming,” she muttered, eyeing the baby’s beet red face in concern. She was a little concerned the kid would stroke out.

  
  
She eased out of the lab, hearing the sounds of gunfire in the distance. At least they had been stupid enough to lead her to the lab with her eyes uncovered, so she had a general sense of where to go. Darcy shushed the baby again, hoisting her back up on her hip. “Very honeybadger of you, not giving a fuck. I admire your lack of fear, Dorothy,” she muttered, peering around the corner. The hallway was empty. She could make a break for it.

  
It wasn’t empty for long.

  
  
Fighting spilled out from another room, bullets flying and ricocheting in the hallway. Darcy cursed, trying to shrink back as she noticed a man with a metal arm – what the _fuck_ \- take down twenty men without breathing hard. He quickly had a gun pointed at her face, and shit, she couldn’t even put her hands up. “Civilian! Civilian, here! _SO_ not involved in whatever is going on.”

  
He stared at her for a long moment, unmoving.

  
  
“Totally going to call PETA on this animal testing bullshit,” she babbled. He looked pretty built – not like, Thor level jacked, but solidly built. Bit of a Kurt Cobain hobo-y thing going on. And a giant fucking _metal murder arm_.

  
  
He blinked.

  
  
Darcy slowly eased her way down the hallway, away from him. “Yeah, ok. I’m just….gonna go. That seems like a thing I should be doing.”

  
  
He blinked.

 

She ran.

  
  
The sound of gunfire echoed behind her, but it didn’t seem to be coming any closer. The baby was now hiccoughing in between squalls, having worked herself into hysterics. The dog, however, seemed to be having a grand old time, his tongue lolling out to the side as if they were going for a run in the park. She finally made it out of the bunker, scrambling at the parked cars, trying to find one that was left unlocked – which would have been a hell of a lot easier if she didn’t have a baby in one hand and a dog harness in the other. Darcy now had a much higher level of respect for those Lululemon-wearing moms who frequented the dog park. The lady who had the twins and the puppy? _Boss_.

  
  
The baby was gently lifted out of her arms, and Darcy whirled. Hallway dude had Dorothy in one arm, and he had smashed the window to the car with his metal hand. Dorothy immediately stopped crying, that little traitor. Darcy scrambled to load the dog into the back seat, taking the baby back as the man hopped into the driver’s seat of the car. Dorothy started screaming hysterically again as soon as Darcy got her hands on her. Darcy threw herself into the passenger seat with a wince at the noise, pulling the baby closer to her chest. “Thanks, Tin Man.”

  
  
The look he shot her was pure disbelief, but he merely shook his head and started driving. Darcy tried to shush the baby, slowly rubbing one hand up and down her back. The baby howled for a few more minutes before finally, _finally_ winding down into soft whimpering cries. They sped along the highway in silence, and Darcy searched the pastures and sheep going by for some sort of landmark to get herself oriented.

  
“You know how to get to Oxford from here? Those guys – they really wanted my boss. I’ve got to warn her.” He made a non-committal grunt, but a few miles after that, he took a sign pointing the exit toward Oxford. Darcy suppressed a hysterical giggle. They were truly _off to see the wizard_ now. “I can’t decide if I’m the Cowardly Lion or the Scarecrow in this scenario,” she babbled. She was on a roll with the anxious talking now. “On the one hand, ten out of ten, truly terrified with the whole kidnapping thing and definitely did not have the guts to be grandstanding with those AIM loons. On the other? Definitely no brains. Janey is the brains of this operation. Every time she starts writing equations with letters, I start humming _if I only had a brain_.”

  
  
His jaw twitched.

  
  
“Plus, we gotta get some food and diapers and stuff for honeybadger here. And our little dog, too. And a car seat. I’m pretty sure this is felony child endangering right here,” Darcy shifted in her seat, trying to better arrange the seat belt she had buckled around her and the baby. “I mean, I probably get a pass with the whole rescuing from human experimentation bit, but yeah. _Not kosher_ ,” she said, wrapping the baby’s swaddle a bit tighter for emphasis. Dorothy gave her a disgruntled look but didn’t start screaming again. Darcy decided to call that a win.

  
  
“Most people wouldn’t care.” Tin Man’s voice was gravelly like it hadn’t been used in a while. His tone was complete puzzlement.

  
  
“ _Whaaat_? Dude. _Dude_. Most people I know are totes against animal testing, much less human experimentation. Like, there is no one I know who would go _oh, a baby, carry on_ when they see a kid in a fucking dog cage. Or a _dog_ in a dog cage. Surrounded by D-List megavillains. That is one hundred percent not a done thing and you’ve been hanging out with the wrong crowd.” Darcy sucked in a breath, her brain finally catching up to the words coming out of her mouth – and the words blazoned on her left shoulder. The words he had just said. “ _Whoa whoa whoa_. The fuck, Tin Man? You’ve been holding out on me.”

  
  
She could see his jaw twitch again.

  
  
“You said my words.”

  
  
He stared straight ahead at the road.

  
  
“Did I say your words?”

  
  
There was a long moment. He went a ridiculous amount of time between blinks.

  
  
“Got a name, Tin Man? I can keep calling you Tin Man, but I’m getting the feeling you’re not into it.”

  
  
“’James.”

  
  
“I’m Darcy,” she replied. She beamed at him. Although he had his head straight forward as if he was focused on the road, he must have been watching her out of the corner of his eye, because his jaw twitched once more. “Not a fan of _The Wizard of Oz_ , Jamie?”

  
  
“’s creepy.”

  
  
Darcy blinked, before letting out a peal of laughter. “Is it the midgets? I can totally see you being afraid of the midgets.”

  
  
This time, the corner of his mouth twitched. It almost looked like he was suppressing a smile. “You got issues, doll.”

  
  
“Like a good magazine, Jamie. Like a good magazine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This plotbunny of doom has been expanded into its own work which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379126)


	8. Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

Bearded hottie was back. Darcy tried to be subtle in her perusal and went to brew a new carafe so she could check him out without being caught. The scruff, the ball cap, the frankly impressive biceps on the days he was wearing a tee shirt, the flannel shirts on other days – it was as if the universe had taken all the things she liked and put them in one package for her ogling pleasure. Ha,  _ package _ . He probably wasn’t struggling there either. Darcy wondered if he was a boxers or briefs guy. She was so distracted by that thought she didn’t realize she had overfilled the reservoir until water splashed onto the countertop. With a muttered curse, she put down the water pitcher and went for paper towels.

 

She was a little pathetic with her mega-crush. It was like Bobby Robbins in eighth grade all over again, where she would end up tongue tied and unable to speak. She blamed it on the locale. They didn’t make men like him in BFE, even if they were populous enough to rate a Starbucks. She always swapped cashiering when she saw him come in, not wanting to submit herself to the probable mortification of trying to take his order without sexually harassing him. He came in twice a week, where he would set up camp with a venti dark roast and a computer for the morning. She was so lame. She looked forward to his inevitable appearance every shift. Which, hey, in her defense, it had been a while. Following Jane around the globe was not exactly conducive to getting any, and he  _ was _ pretty amazing eyecandy. She was only like, ninety percent pathetic for having his visits on Tuesdays and Fridays be the highlight of her week.

 

Working for the ‘Bux wasn’t bad even on the days he didn’t visit. Although Darcy had graduated from intern to official administrative assistant, Jane’s budget remained sparse. Being a barista actually brought in some cash, and she could work part time and still get health insurance. Plus, they had locations literally  _ everywhere _ , which made it easy to move with Jane wherever the data took them. Sure, her mother guilted her all the time for not putting her degree to use, but there was no way to explain why Jane’s work was so important without bringing the wrath of SHIELD down on her head. Or whatever SHIELD was called these days, being all new and improved and HYDRA free. Allegedly. Or at least that was what Director Hill had said when they had been out to talk to Jane. Not that Darcy believed her. The whole Sokovia Accords bullshit last year was the final nail in the coffin of her ever considering using her political science degree. Working for Jane was far more likely to  _ actually _ benefit humanity than the raging dumpster fire that was their current government.

 

Darcy threw the wet paper towels in the trash and set the coffee to brew, giving bearded hottie another once over. He always sat with his back to the wall, which made it easier to creep on his face. To her surprise, he wasn’t looking down at his computer, and instead she found herself locking eyes with him. He gave her a smile and  _ hot damn _ , was that a panty dropper. She felt a blush start to creep up her neck. The smile she gave him in return felt more like a grimace. “We’re getting low on paper towels. I’m going to restock,” she blurted out. Michelle looked up from playing with her phone at the cash register, but Darcy had moved on before she could complain, powerwalking to the back of the store and ducking in to the supply closet. She took a moment to press cool hands to her hot cheeks. Yup, totally blushing. If he kept that up, one of these days she was going to forget her brain to mouth filter and actually  _ say _ one of the cheesy pick-up lines that kept popping up in her head at the sight of him.

 

He was typing on his computer when she came back out of the supply closet, but he looked up and caught her eye once more with a small grin. Those blue eyes should be  _ illegal _ .

 

“Thought you were getting paper towels?” Michelle commented slyly. She had worked enough shifts with Darcy that she knew  _ all _ about her mortifying crush on bearded hottie.

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Darcy swore under her breath and flew back to the supply closet and actually did something other than hyperventilate. If she was blushing before, she was beet red now. She grabbed a paper towel roll and hustled back to the counter, studiously avoiding looking in his direction. “Do not say a word,” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down. “Take pity on me. I am an awkward sea turtle.”

 

Michelle covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, peering around Darcy to take a look at him. “He’s checking out your ass.”

 

“Stop being so obvious,” Darcy whispered through clenched teeth.

 

Michelle smirked at her. “I’m taking a smoke break. Grow a pair and talk to him,” she murmured.

 

“I am perfectly content undressing him with my eyes and keeping my awkwardness to myself, thank you very much,” Darcy retorted under her breath.

 

“Sure,” Michelle drawled, and left her standing at the counter by herself. Alone. In the shop with bearded hottie.

 

This was like the start to every nightmare where Darcy realized halfway through that she was only in her underwear.

 

She exhaled and turned around slowly. He wasn’t even pretending to look at the computer; instead, the friendly smile from before had morphed into a cocky grin. He was going to say something, she could tell. He was going to say something, and she would have to reply, and then he would never come back because she was inevitably going to be awkward.

 

He sneezed.

 

“I’d say God bless you, but  _ clearly _ He already did,” Darcy said, giving in to the impulse to ogle. And  _ there _ went the brain to mouth filter. At least it had been a cheesy pick up line, rather than the full out sexual harassment that went through her mind most of the time.

 

“Well, that was unexpected,” he replied, his grin even wider.

 

Darcy blinked and tried to process the fact that bearded hottie just said her words. “The sneeze, or - ?” she blurted out.

 

He laughed. He sauntered over to the counter and Jesus Christ,  _ bearded hottie in bumfuck nowhere said her words _ . “Both,” he replied. “I’m Steve.”

 

“I’m Darcy. And oh my God, I am  _ so _ sorry you’ve been walking around with a cheesy pickup line on your admittedly fine body. I would say I’m normally not like this, but I  _ totally am _ ,” she muttered, pressing her hands against her red cheeks.

 

He was still smiling. “Don’t be. It’s not half as bad as the lines I was finding online. There was this pretty girl who works here I was wanting to ask out.”

 

“Oh, really?” Darcy said archly.

 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, and leaned forward on the countertop towards her. The beard was giving her a serious lady boner.

 

“What were you going to say?” she asked. He didn’t strike her as a pickup artist type.

 

He smirked. “Is that a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants.”

 

Darcy laughed. “You troll. That is a  _ lie _ .”

 

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” he countered, pasting an innocent look on his face. He looked too amused to truly fake being sincere.

 

“So, what’s your name again? I just need to know what I’ll be screaming tonight,” Darcy replied, grinning. Two could play that game, and she was  _ totally _ going to win. Most of the lines she knew were way dirtier.

 

He didn’t seem phased by her come on. Instead, Steve slid a sugar packet across the counter all smooth. “I think you dropped your name tag.”

 

Darcy laughed again. “Fuck me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?” she quipped.

 

He guffawed, nearly bent in half from laughing so hard. Darcy couldn’t keep a straight face and broke out in giggles. It took a minute for him to regain his composure. “You’re going to be trouble, doll.”

 

“You really have no idea,” Darcy said with a shake of her head.

 

“How ‘bout I pick you up after your shift and you tell me just how much trouble you can be,” he replied with a grin. And ok, he totally won because that was  _ definitely  _ slick.

 

“It’s a date.”

 


	9. Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some cracky AU post Avengers where Jane and Darcy go work for SHIELD. Hijinks ensue. *g*

Darcy poked her head into the conference room, surprised to see it full. “You wanted to see me?”

 

“Yes, Ms. Lewis –“ Agent Coulson began.

 

“Here,” Clint interrupted, tossing an apple in her direction.

 

Darcy stepped in the room and caught it, raising an eyebrow. “You brought me here to show off our party trick?”

 

Clint rolled his eyes. “Just do it, ok?”

 

Darcy blinked, taking in the room full of Avengers and SHIELD agents. “Okay,” she drawled, then grinned. With a flourish, she stepped down to the end of the room and gave her best Vanna White to the apple. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the best trick shot in the United States! The _Amazing Hawkeye_!” she announced, striking a pose and putting the apple on top of her head. Clint raised his bow and shot the apple straight through. Her smile widened. Slipping the hair tie off her wrist, Darcy held it up as if she were performing for a real audience, and then moved so that she was standing in profile. She put the hair tie in her teeth. Clint paused, then shot an arrow completely through the hole. She didn’t blink or flinch. She stepped away from the hair tie and then bowed. Thor clapped enthusiastically. Most of the room remained stone faced. Tony Stark leered.

 

“ _See_ ,” Clint said. “She’s a natural.”

 

“We need to talk about how you’re spending your down time,” Coulson commented, eyebrow raised.

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the break from the labs, but I get the feeling you didn’t bring me up here to show off,” Darcy added dryly.

 

“She does a good job selling the act. It’s believable,” Natasha contributed. The woman was studying her intently, leaving Darcy feeling more than a little flustered.

 

”Natasha would be doing the espionage. We don’t need another agent – we need someone who can _perform_ ,” Clint argued.

 

“Are you sure having someone untrained –“ Steve began.

 

“We would need someone above a Level Five clearance,” Coulson muttered. “Lewis has a six...”

 

“Not many female agents beyond that who still do fieldwork.”

 

“Agent Morse –“ one of the SHIELD suits offered.

 

“Is my ex-wife. Not happening.”

 

“I’m not sure –“ Steve tried again.

 

“Boobs McGee looks like a carnie,” Tony interrupted. He had a shit-eating grin.

 

“ _Excuse me_?” Darcy retorted. Thor frowned at him.

 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Ignore him,” she told Darcy. She turned to Coulson. “You’re not going to find a female agent above Level Five doing fieldwork who is capable of not flinching while Barton fires arrows at them after Loki, much less one who can actually act like a performer,” she said bluntly.

 

Darcy snuck a glance at Clint out of the corner of her eye, noticing how his face had shuttered at the mention of Loki. “Again, an explanation, any day now,” she spoke up, hoping to redirect the conversation away from what was clearly an emotional minefield.

 

“We need to send a team undercover,” Coulson began.

 

“Hope you like spangles and spandex, Double Dee,” Tony interrupted.

 

Darcy flipped him the bird, and tried to focus on Coulson. “And you’re wanting _me_ , Agent J? You do realize I’m a glorified babysitter, right?” Her official title may have been lab manager, but the job description sounded more like working for a daycare. And Tony was definitely getting locked out of his lab for _at least_ twenty-four hours after this.

 

“You should not denigrate your true worth, Darcy,” Thor told her gravely. Darcy flashed him a small smile. “Thanks, big guy.”

 

“But, Bucky –“ Steve protested.

 

“Will be my problem,” Natasha said. “Selling the act is the hard part. We need a solid act to get in. Even if we brought another agent, they wouldn’t be involved. I need a team who can pull focus from me so I can operate under the radar. I don’t need firepower. We will call in an extraction once I’m able to confirm his location.”

 

“With a circus?” Darcy clarified, with some disbelief.

 

“Yes,” Clint confirmed with glee.

 

Darcy’s brain caught up with Steve’s protest a minute before. “Back up,” she said, holding up a hand. “ _Bucky_ ? As in _Bucky Barnes_? The Howling Commando that died in ’44? What the fuck is he doing with a circus? And how is he alive? And – you know what? I’m going to stop asking questions.” She turned to Coulson. “Explain.”

 

“I am trying, Ms. Lewis,” Coulson replied tersely.

 

“Let’s call it Operation Sleeping Beauty,” Tony suggested. Steve frowned and opened his mouth to protest.

 

Agent Coulson’s bland smile became rather fixed. “I think Agents Barton and Romanoff will be sufficient to assist in briefing Ms. Lewis. Dismissed.”

 

Darcy watched the room empty with wide eyes. “Okay. I got the undercover as a circus act part. But you’re going to have to explain the rest,” she told them. “Because I’ve seen some crazy shit, but this sounds like it might take the cake.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Yeah, that’s still freaking me out,” Darcy commented, watching Natasha mimic her body language and speech while talking to one of the other performers. They were posing as sisters, and Natasha had shown up with her hair dyed dark and an eerie repertoire of mannerisms straight out of the Lewis playbook.

 

Clint shrugged. “You get used to it.”

 

Darcy shook her head. “I really don’t think I will. Also, you think she’s got plans for Thanksgiving? This is too good to pass up for pranks.”

 

Clint grinned. “You ready for tonight?” he asked, changing the subject. Whoops. She had forgotten their cover. At least they were far enough away that no one could have overheard.

 

“Sure,” Darcy replied. The circus had bought their act with Darcy and Natasha posing as sisters from a prior circus that had folded. Natasha was a trapeze artist, and Clint was acting as her boyfriend, with Darcy as an assistant for his trick shot performance. Darcy had one of those fun sequined outfits straight out of Vegas with a feathered tail. It was a pretty sweet gig. SHIELD had suspected the circus was a front for HYDRA to move the Winter Solider while he was held in cryogenic sleep. All she had to do was pal around with the rest of the troupe while Natasha snuck off to play spy games and figure out how to jailbreak one cryogenically frozen, brainwashed Bucky Barnes. And hadn’t _that_ been a mindfuck, learning that Steve’s best friend was alive. Steve had been hell bent on dashing off as a one-man wrecking crew to get him back. She still wasn’t sure how Natasha and Agent Coulson had convinced him to stay behind with the extraction crew.

 

“You nervous?” Clint asked. He bent down to stretch his back a bit. The show was lights up in an hour. He had already changed into his costume. Darcy thought that much purple spandex and sequins should be outlawed, but Clint swore it would look good under the show lights. She remained dubious.

 

“Nah,” Darcy replied. “Can you do my makeup, though? I suck at doing a decent cat eye.”

 

“Of course. And yeah, you really do,” he confirmed. “Makes you look like you’ve got a lazy eye.”

 

“Hey!” Darcy protested. Clint grinned. He was deriving _way_ too much enjoyment from this assignment.

Their act went off without a hitch. Darcy had fun with it, hamming it up for the audience, opening her eyes wide in shock as Clint fired arrows at her, stripping away the outer layer of her costume. She stepped up to the board, holding up various props as he shot off a variety of trick shots. It was a real hit, and Darcy had to admit, she got a thrill from the applause. She could see why Clint missed performing sometimes.

 

It all went to hell shortly afterward, of course. It was supposed to be a low risk assignment, with Darcy out of the field before the extraction team went in. Instead, Darcy found herself tentatively holding a gun on the outskirts of the campground watching half the circus burn and listening to the sounds of gunfire around her. Clint had shoved her out of their trailer with the gun and told her to run, but Darcy had hesitated, wondering what the fuck had happened to the plan. She knew Clint and Natasha were professionals, but she still felt uneasy leaving them behind.

 

Spotting something out of the corner of her eye, Darcy whirled to the right, heart pounding. To her relief, it was only Natasha, who was helping a stumbling man with dark hair and a metal arm. Darcy exhaled and lowered the gun.

 

“I need you to get James out of here. Take one of the cars. You can rendezvous with Agent Lopez at the gas station up the road,” Natasha told her. Her voice was firm, although she seemed calm. Darcy nodded. Natasha turned to the man she was helping. “Вы в безопасности с ней. Я найду тебя, как только уберу здесь. Go with Darcy, James,” she added when he hesitated, throwing his good arm over Darcy’s shoulder.

 

Darcy barely maintained her balance – he was heavier than he looked. “You should probably take my gun,” she told him, making sure the safety was on before pressing it into his metal hand. He gave a sharp intake of breath. She hoped he wasn’t bleeding all over her from some unseen gunshot wound. It was too dark to see anything clearly. “I’m a danger to all of us with it.”

 

“I’m thinking you’re plenty dangerous without it, sweetheart,” he said with a wheeze.

 

Darcy felt like she had been socked in the gut. The sound of police sirens in the distance brought her back to the present. “Well damn, I’m glad I let Clint do my makeup,” she blurted out.

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I’ll explain later,” she said hurriedly. They had finally made it to the parking lot and she had a car to steal. The soulmate conversation would have to wait.


End file.
